The Lady, Golden
by pearypie
Summary: Elizabeth Midford. Too lovely to take, too beautiful to break. / (Midnight is a precarious hour - especially if demons are on the prowl.)


The candelabra burns, sparking three small flames in the otherwise impenetrable darkness of Phantomhive Manor; outside, the evening sky is moonless and no stars can be seen. The Lady Elizabeth, guided by these faint illuminations, wanders down the east wing's corridor in nothing but her nightgown—lacy white and diaphanous. She knows she's an indecent sight (and goodness, is she grateful for mother's absence) but for the life her, she simply can't fall asleep tonight. Tossing and turning in her silken bed, Lizzy spied the grandfather clock reading half past one and decided, against her better judgement, to walk the halls of Ciel's childhood home, in the hopes of quieting her mind.

Rounding a left corner, Lizzy nearly runs headfirst into Sebastian, who, as always, is draped in black and wearing a smile that cut like a knife.

"My apologies, Lady Elizabeth." Sebastian bows, formal and entirely proper, before righting himself. Even in the shallow light, Lizzy knows Sebastian stands at an impressive height, towering over her own form while his carnelian eyes glimmered with amusement.

"Not at all." She manages, giving him a small curtsey and feeling rather embarrassed that he should see her in such a distressed state. _He always looks so perfect—so wonderfully put together._ She muses lightly, switching the candelabra from her right hand to her left. "It's my fault. After all, I'm the one creeping around these halls like some masked intruder in the dead of night." She japes lightly, wondering where this sudden surge of familiarity came from.

 _I stay up a few hours too late and I lose all sense of propriety._ Lizzy silently chides herself, briefly wondering if Sebastian would comment on the state of her dress before realizing that his crimson gaze hasn't left her face.

A blush begins to bloom, staining her cheeks a faint but becoming pink. "I do apologize for that." She murmurs, lowering her eyes. "I don't know what's come over me. Perhaps the midnight hour is just as they say—treacherous and mortifying at the worst of times."

"Ah, but your charm more than makes up for whatever mortification you might feel." Sebastian smiles, canines gleaming. "If I may, my lady," he takes two steps closer, "I see nothing about this situation that should embarrass you in the least. After all, an evening angel is hardly a familiar sight around here." His voice is alluringly smooth—like cool silk or running river water—but it's his eyes that capture her focus, wholly and completely.

They hold Elizabeth in place, refusing to allow her to escape. A voice in the back of mind whispers that they look like two burning cinders, grotesque and horrible, but his porcelain skin and bourbon scent only serve to intoxicate her senses and her pheromone addled brain can only think of comet falls, bright and dark, an inherent contradiction blazing in Sebastian's ruby-amethyst eyes.

Her lips part, soft and full, and Sebastian's eyes flicker to take in the sight of her rosebud mouth—open and sweet.

And suddenly, Elizabeth is hyper-aware of this entire situation and how completely and utterly _improper_ this whole affair is. "I should leave." She finally says, and hates how breathy her voice sounds—how expectant and wanting and _goodness,_ she must be half delirious by now! "I apologize for interrupting your midnight inspection."

"You've apologized twice now, my lady. It's unbecoming for a woman of your station to submit twice to a servant of my caliber."

His words—aware and so playfully cruel—provoke Elizabeth's ire, causing her jade green eyes to turn to emerald fire because _yes,_ Sebastian muses (silent—and perhaps subconsciously), he does so love the ferocity in her gaze.

"I submit nothing but my regret in having run into you this evening." She raises her chin, the proud daughter of Alexis Leon Midford, and Sebastian can almost taste the pure white virtue that looms over her like a halo. She is Joan of Arc reincarnated and _god,_ it's been _centuries_ since he's last seen a soul this pure.

"My lady—"

"Mr. Michaelis," her voice is sharp, carrying a sting of reproach that only serves to entice the beast within, "I thank you for your conversation and company but now," she meets his eyes, "I truly must bid you _good night._ "

She moves closer, their chests almost touching, but there is something defiant in her otherwise angelic expression—as if daring him to refuse her unspoken request. In his mind's eye, he would take her here and now—grab her by the shoulders (exposed by the fallen nightgown) and push her against the velvet wall, hiking up the see-through material so that her legs wrapped around his hips while his mouth devoured hers. For some odd, almost unspeakable reason, Elizabeth Midford provokes the monster in him to its breaking point—perhaps it's because of her purity, perhaps it's because of her spirit. He doesn't know.

What he does know is that here she is, sleeping three doors down from his own master and wandering these halls like a lost seraph, hopeful but unsure.

 _Too lovely to take, too beautiful to break._

He exhales and Elizabeth catches the faint whiff of winter plums and something else she can't quite put her finger on—smoke? Honey? Whisky? She can't say for sure.

"Come, my lady," Sebastian's hungry gaze is obvious, "allow me to escort you back to your chambers."

For a split second, Elizabeth hesitates, suddenly filled with the urge to run out of this house and to the nearest chapel, but then she looks back up at him—at this perfect, immaculate black butler and her mind, muddled by dark magic and inhuman allure, capitulates.

"Of course." She hands him the candelabra and turns her back, allowing Sebastian to fall into place behind her.

When they arrive at her bedroom door, she turns to find him inches away from where she stands, mouth fixed in a knowing half-smile and pieces of dark hair hanging over his bright burning eyes. "My lady." He murmurs, bending down half an inch.

"Sebastian." She acknowledges, willing herself to turn back around and crawl into bed for the rest of the night.

He chuckles, breath tickling her cheek. "Goodnight my lady and—if I may?" He sounds so polite—so disarmingly vulnerable—that Elizabeth lets down her guard for half a second, allowing him to move in closer.

His lips brush against her cheek in a chilling kiss that forces a gasp out of her mouth. Her entire body tenses, hands balling into fists by her side as her lower stomach tightens and she's forced to press her legs together. She feels as if she's fallen down the tallest building in the world—her heart thrumming and blood pulsing through her veins at an uneven but rapid pace.

She feels lightheaded as the tip of Sebastian's tongue comes to... _taste_ her? But he gives her no time to think. Instead, Sebastian lifts his head and their eyes meet for all too brief a moment before he's kissing her—truly, actually kissing her. His mouth is insistent and Lizzy's lips open, allowing him to taste summer nectarines and untouched purity. He tilts his head, deepening this kiss because right now, she tastes almost divine.

" _Sleep well, my lady._ " Sebastian's lips trail three kisses to her ear before he steps back and Elizabeth, for the first time, feels a sliver of reluctant lust shoot through her body.

Biting down on her lower lip, rouged and slightly swollen, she manages a small curtsey. "Goodnight…"

Lizzy watches as Sebastian walks down the hall, footsteps even. The candelabra's flames flicker, growing fainter and fainter until, at last, only darkness remained.

* * *

 **A/N: Er...feedback would be lovely :)**


End file.
